The Aural Douchebag

James Blunt's new album

2006-04-06T00:16:00.000-06:00

(Album art courtesy of Atlantic Records)

I'm no fan of James as well documented here.

So it came to my surprise as I find in a brown Manila envelope on my doorstep from Atlantic Records a promo copy of his next album to be released "sometime in the late second quarter of 2006". I would have thought they would ride it out for at least another year before he would release another LP.

But here goes.

Return to Chaos, a cleverly named follow-up to his mega-selling Back to Bedlam, takes a bit of a turn for the better here. With producer Jim O'Rourke (he of Sonic Youth and Wilco fame) helming the knobs and buttons, I'm ashamed to admit we have an artist that straddles the distinction between independent credibility and mainstream accessibility. Though there's nothing immediately mind-numbing/catchy as "You're Beautiful", peeling away the multitude of layers of Blunt's sophmore effort should be half the fun.

It's true, I'm eating my words because the opening track The Dreams of my Soul kicks it into high gear with equal parts sap, but a truthiness that belies Blunt's forlorn demeanor. "I've found what I've been looking for / from the black and whites of my soul /it's broken and bloody, but the dreams since you've come / they've again made me whole", Blunt croons in his patented low/high octavian holler.

It's brilliant. There, I've said it.

Hemingway's Capote, a sparse classical acoustic track with a well-placed hint of alto-sax, crosses into the best elements of Christopher Cross and Michael McDonald territory without entering into the 80's cheese-pop that later tarnished their careers. Delving into the manic lives of both authors in a 5 minute sprawl, the song marks Blunts' stamp on modern day pop music.

Much of the album deals with Blunt's conviction of the terror's he has seen and the tormented sorrows he has yet to face.

Perhaps the best example of Blunt's growth is the separation of the album into two parts (side a and b). Although the distinction on CD is obviously not there, it's meant to be listened as though it were on vinyl, hearkening back to the turntable days where the rustic scratches augmented the music environment.

I just wish the hidden track would have stayed - as the title would suggest - hidden. No matter, as it is a one-minute spoken word song 'sung' to an oddly paired (but attractive) trio of harp, mandolin and accordion about a group of orphans Blunt had come across during his UN sponsored trips to save South Africa. It is magnificently affecting.

Jim O'Rourke has clearly honed Blunt's innate songwriting skills while reigning in some of the squeaky tupperware clean production of his previous effort. Return to Chaos comes across equal parts charming, soul delving and mind blowing.

Just don't forget to check the fine print.

Tha Many Faces (feces) of Phil Collins

2006-03-19T23:27:00.000-07:00

('I can feel it coming in the air tonight'. So can I Phil. So can I.)

My disdain for Phil Collins rivals only The Literate Douchebag's disdain for The Eagles. I've always remembered him as the guy with the pretentious smirk, the guy who played with a drum kit that could outfit an entire African native tribe, and the guy who left the fecal deposit... err, song 'I Can't Dance'. In case you forgot, let me leave this for you:

"Cos, I can’t dance, I can’t talk.
Only thing about me is the way I walk.
I can’t dance, I can’t sing
I’m just standing here selling."

Although technically written by Genesis, we all know a Peter Gabriel-less Genesis is like Tom Cruise without the crazy. It's just not as entertaining.

Regardless, the ultimate example of Phil Collins' douchebaggery, check out the following album covers:

Look to the left, which one doesn't belong (click the picture for a bigger view)? When no one can tell the difference between one of your album covers and Sinead O'Connor's, you're in some douchebagging quicksand. Every single album cover is the same. In fact, you cannot even tell based on his appearance what decade (or orifice) it could have come from.

Not to mention Phil Collins' single-handedly ruined one of Disney's best animated features in recent memory (Tarzan) with his patented 80's synth drum beats, heavily distorted vocals and a song called 'You'll Be in My Heart'. I never would thought I would yearn for the days of 'Can You Feel the Love Tonight'. It makes one wonder if he's completely incapable of hearing what his own garbage smells like.

Or can he? In a recent Rolling Stone article , Collins admits to being nearly deaf and unable to hear a bass line. This explains plenty. Based on this alone, Collins should be entered into some kind of pop-music Special Olympics (I would love to see the one-legged air guitar competition).

By a narrow margin, Phil Collins is no douchebag, although his music and album covers definitely point that way.

Besides being partly handicapped, Collins' charity efforts and reputation for being a 'nice guy' makes his music bearable in a I'll-watch-Brokeback Mountain-because-of-Anne-Hathaway's-nudie-scene kind of way. I just can't call the guy a true douchebag.

The Eagles though...

Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch Still Open for 'Business'

2006-03-17T12:08:00.000-07:00

(Contrary to the image above, remember, innocent until proven guilty...

unless you're a douchebag)

Somewhere in Los Angeles, there is a district attorney who is crying because Neverland Ranch is closed for good. The King of Pop Douchebags remains a punchline. Have a good day.

The Douche High Five II

2006-03-12T23:16:00.000-07:00

5. Douchebag Defcon 5: Californian Authorities

For ordering Michael Jackson to shut down Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch. So you're telling me that the law-makers in California wants to shut down Jackson's fun palace/kiddie harem otherwise known as the only place they'll ever catch Michael doing the statutory dance? It's kind of like shutting down Amsterdam's red light district to crack down on prostitution.

The only reason why this isn't making top douchebag award is because they shut it down because MJ didn't pay 30 of his staff to the tune of $169K. If I were the DA's office, I'd pay that money out of pocket just to keep that place alive.

4. I Know What You Douched Last Summer: Scott Stapp

Poor Scott Stapp. Not only does his last name resemble some kind of strain of Clymidia (i.e. "dude, I slept with some nasty girl the other week. I think I got The Stapp."), but he runs into a bevy of legal troubles.

I'm not going to poke fun of an obvious alcoholic. I'm sure there's enough people out there who are into that.

But this is for him actually stopping the release of a sex tape during his year long philandering a couple years ago. Let's get this straight, the massively popular Creed shuts down and he goes into solo mode. That's a tough move and he needs all the momentum he can get. Did he not watch Paris Hilton's sex tape?

My god, it even has Kid Rock as a supporting act. That's like putting Vogue-era Maddonna in an orgy; redundant, but the mathematical equivalent of putting an exponential figure on infinity.

3. Unkempt and Smells of Serious Funk: MuchMusic

For their MuchMusic VJ search. The once mighty music video Canadian giant who once employed the likes of George Stroubouloplous, Rachel Perry and Master T have entered the one-way street into MTV flashy douchebaggery.

Part Big Brother, Survivor and the Apprentice, it has none of the isolation elements, survival or star power of Donald Trump to make it anything but a show to point out how bad their current VJ's are. Name 5 real quick not named Rick the Temp.

2. Disease Ridden Canal: The Rolling Stones

For agreeing to censor some of their "offensive" material. This shouldn't need to be looked into in depth, but the once Liam Gallagher-like Mick Jagger has officially lost his swagger. Sigh. Keith Richards must have rolled over in his grave. Ba-dum-ching!

1. Douchebuggery Extravaganza: Pitchforkmedia.com

I'm not kidding, these guys are running their own music festival. Call in the fourth horseman.

Now, I'm not against a bunch of people running a music festival. But have you ever seen Rolling Stone, NME, Q, MOJO, etc... run their own festival? Sure they host award ceremonies, but they're mostly harmless event gatherings to create a little news.

These guys don't run their own music festivals because as people who affect the music landscape with their own ramblings of what to listen to and what not to listen to, they have a rudimentary understanding of impartiality to the bands they cover.

Back to Pitchfork. Interestingly enough Mission of Burma is playing. Same with Spoon. These guys are probably taking a pay cut to be there, hence giving Pitchfork a favour. Do you think these bands will ever recive an impartial review ever again?

In setting up a festival, Pitchfork have changed from being observers to becoming part of it all. This is a web magazine that purports itself to find new and great music because the mainstream simply isn't good enough. Little do they understand that all music, little or big, all belong in the pop music mainstream. That smell coming from here, it's pretentiousness.

Congrats, by ditching their journalistic observer status, they're now pissing in the well they drink from.

iDouche-Tunes

2006-03-07T23:35:00.000-07:00

(the Aural Douchebag will not pay one dollar to make these men go away)

A few weeks ago, I posed a question to the Literate Douchebag:

If every song cost one dollar to go away forever and you had five dollars, how would you spend your five bucks?

With index finger to the chin, eyes to the sky and farting/pensive face in full force, here are my candidates, complete with conclusion:

Mark Morrison - Return of the Mack:

Paying one dollar to make this song go away will forever erase high school memories of people referring to themselves as a "mack" and forever erase future memories of people who think they're still in high school refer to themselves as a "mack".

However, listen to the guy's voice. I'm convinced he's had some kind of operation that is the opposite of a tracheotomy.

Key lines:

"Oh mah gawd!"
"Whah yu did, whah yu di i id"

Go into any shopping mall (and/or night club) and sing "Oh mah gawd!"exactly like Mark Morrison and I'm convinced everyone will know what you're singing. It's THAT iconic. Why would I ever make it go away?

Celine Dion - My Heart Will go on:

Is the song bad or is it the french-Canadian delivery?

I'm going to go with both. Nevertheless, I get a kick out of her chest beating. Without this song (which launched her career into superstardom), we would have missed the Egyptian style wedding with the Buddha-like husband, her freaky book of portrait photographs and her subsequent (yet lucrative) exile to a Las Vegas venue. Definitely not worth the dollar.

James Blunt - You're Beautiful:

The horrifying nature of this song has already been covered here. With a voice like a broken whistle, a staggeringly vapid song about someone James Blunt saw on a train and wanted to do the nasty with, and tupperware-squeaky clean production, it's a perfect recipe for douchebaggery.

However, sing it and be prepared to entertain yourself for hours, if not weeks on end. It's like the year when you and your buddies couldn't stop imitating Raine Maida in Our Lady Peace's 'Superman's Dead' and then broke out in stitches.

In short, there's no way I would pay a dollar for this song to go away forever. 'H....iiiiit's truh!'

Billy Joel- We Didn't Start the Fire:

Forever remembered as the song that permanently put The Joel in the adult contemporary/smooth rock arena. What a shame on an otherwise brillant career (we won't get into the disasters that were The Bridge, Garth Brooks covering 'Shameless' and Atilla today).

As awful as that song is, with a gun pressed to my head, I can recite the verses of that song in probably a touch over 90 seconds. It's impressive. It's kind of like that old Ben Stiller movie Mystery Men where a bunch of superheroes had useless superpowers. Reciting the verses on this song faster than Billy Joel could probably do it is my power.

I wouldn't make that go away for anything.

Any song from N'SYNC, New Kids on the Block, 98 Degrees, Backstreet Boys, etc...:

If you had the opportunity to make one of any boy-band song to go away forever, isn't that kind of like killing one ant in a 10 foot tall ant hill? What a waste of money.

Besides, that music is made for 12 year old girls with secret crushes on the boy next door who looks kind of like Frankie Muniz and 12 year old boys who don't know they're gay yet. It also does a fantastic job of entertaining that demographic. Only douchebags would want to take away entertainment from a child.

So at the end of all this I'm left still with five bucks. The point is, no song is worth vaporizing off the face of this earth. I'd rather hang out with a dozen Joey Fatone fans who don't give a JC Chavez about what you listen to than one Arcade Fire fan who would actually pay money to make a piece of music go away forever.

Don't be a douchebag, save your money.

Ludacris is my #1 hero

2006-03-06T11:02:00.000-07:00

(this man has been in more Oscar-nominated films than you and Marisa Tomei combined)

Watching last night's Academy Awards show, I realized a man named Chris Bridges, aka Chris Lova Lova or more widely known as Ludacris, deserves to be nominated into the Douchebag Justice League Hall of Heroes.

Not only did he, with a straight face, introduce a performance of 'It's hard out here for a pimp' by the Three 6 Mafia on The freaking Academy Awards, he also managed to score bit parts in films that made up for 40% of the films in the best motion picture category.

Where Snoop Dogg has to play the punchline in movies like Old School and Starsky & Hutch, and Kanye West has to resort to telethons to make a statment, Ludacris manages to piss off Bill O'Reilly with a song like 'Move Bitch' and also playing a two-bit thief with a conscience in Crash.

Perhaps most impressive of all, this was a man who went from co-starring with Academy Award's equivalent of gonnarhea (Paul Walker) in 2 Fast 2 Furious to Crash in a few steps. If that's not a true American success story, I don't know what is.

The result is concrete: Ludacris is not a douchebag.

The Douche Dictionary

2006-03-02T10:56:00.000-07:00

Ok, so the Strokes, White Stripes, Vines, etc... get the tag of Garage Rock. As douche as that is already, we're not going there today. Mostly because calling Jack White a douche has a potential for this to happen:

(if you really need to know what happened to this bruised up douchebag, go here: http://www.nme.com/news/107055.htm)

So, there's another set of bands that need a new genre name. Because these bands are mostly populated by limp wristed and depressed songsters apparently still pining for their grade 11 ex-girlfriends, I think I can take them on:

Iron and Wine -> Wispy Rock:

Oh, I'm sorry. I totally fell asleep writing about Iron and Wine. God knows what would happen if I actually listened to them.

The Postal Service -> Yearn Rock:

Half-baked melodies buried underneath layers of bleep/bloop production! Hurray! Let's talk about my pain.... for fixe, six minutes at a time! Love me please!

Extra douche points for being on the Garden State soundtrack.

Death Cab for Cutie -> Wank Rock:

I rarely judge a book by its cover, but with a name like Death Cab for Cutie, all I can see is 'I need to be punched by Jack White'.

Elliot Smith -> Overwrought Rock:

Yeah yeah, before posting all of those 'ooh... picking on the dead guy' posts, I know he's dead. And painfully too (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/3358779.stm). Yes, he must have lived with extreme grief. We get it. He's dead gone bye-bye.

Sad? Yes

Overwrought douchebaggery? Heck yes.

Bright Eyes -> Flask Rock:

Not only does he admit to drinking absinthe: http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/8957277/bright_eyes/?rnd=1141410132917&has-player=true&version=6.0.12.857

the 'man' has also used the word 'flask' in one of his songs (Lua): 'I got a flask inside my pocket, we can share it on the train'. Imagine the gawky guy in your grade 12 class wearing full out goth gear, putting on after school plays in the theatre no one goes to and then afterwards blaming the lack of audience on 'no one understanding my artistic vision'. That's Bright Eyes. With a voice that kind of sounds like a softly blown duck whistle. With a lisp.

If you don't live in the 19th century with a massive drinking problem but carry a flask around, Jack White will be looking for you. See the above picture for details.

Obviously constipated with pretension, we now have another candidate to make the Douchebag Hall of Fame. Congrats!

Beth Orton: Comfort of Strangers

2006-03-02T10:47:00.000-07:00

After 2002's not-so-stellar follow up Daybreaker to the very-stellar Central Reservation, stringbean/songstress Beth Orton has followed up with something somewhere in between.

I can't really decide. 14 tracks (albeit relatively short ones)? Douchebagette:

Half of those tracks (i.e. Conceived, Comfort of Strangers) make me feel like I'm watching the Gilmore Girls. Although a decent show, it's a couple steps diagonal to Dawson's Creek -> Paula Cole -> hairy armpits territory.
You get the feeling while listening to the stripped down production that Jim O'Rourke (he of Wilco and Sonic youth 'fame') really took on this project in the hopes he could bone Beth Orton. Fair enough, seeing as potential Douchebag hall-of-famer Ryan Adams got in there.
A song called Pieces of Sky. Seriously. Now we're in Bright Eyes territory.

The above clearly meets the criteria for Douchebaggery, though not quite to the level of Douchebuggery. But, Orton's Comfort of Strangers narrowly escapes the stamp of Douchebag because of the following:

She sings real nice.
In opening track Worms: "Worms don't dance / they haven't got the balls" Definite no douche zone there.
An album cover with a half-grainy photo where she's not featured staring wistfully into something.
A true effort into trying to create solid melody.
The b-sides will probably better than the album tracks, just like Daybreaker.

The count: Orton beats the douche, 5 to 3.

The Douche high five

2006-02-27T17:53:00.000-07:00

5. Needs to air it out: The New Pornographers

No Neko Case while headlining a North American tour = slight douchebaggery.

4. Starting to ferment: Willie Nelson

For his "new" single Coywboys are Frequently, Secretly Fond of Each Other... right in time for the post Brokeback Gay Cowboy movie craze. Apparently written in the 80's, now Willie decides it's a good time to release it? Definite douche material.

3. Definite and discernable odor: Jamie Foxx

Does anyone else smell a familiar douching smell in a pop-crooning Eddie Murphy? Extra douching for trying to pimp his CD at the NBA All-Star game last week for no apparent reason.

2. 'Wow, that's some serious stench. I can taste it from here.': The Sex Pistols

Snubbing the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame by saying they're not 'monkeys: http://jam.canoe.ca/Music/2006/02/24/1461279-ap.html

Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't they make one album? Serious douchebaggery for wasted potential and extra points for still having a crazy haircut. You'd think by now Johnny Rotten would be a Kirby vacuum cleaner salesman and at least own a cinder-block propped RV.

1. Douchebag extrordinaire: Susan Evans, the executive director of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Foundation

For responding to The Sex Pistols with this: "They are being the outrageous punksters they are, and that's rock and roll."

Although I sense no stench, it's clear Evans has been hitting the douchepipe far too much when she's probably seething with rage that some 50-year-old meatheads just took a swing at her vag.

The Flaming Lips: At War with the Mystics

2006-02-27T12:24:00.000-07:00

Raise your hands to those who saw Brad Beasley's doc The Fearless Freaks and actually gave a shat about their music before the Soft Bulletin.

See, that cricket and dust-bunny across a lonely highway sound is just a further testament to the late-breaking genius of Wayne Coyne, Drozd and Co.

There aren't a whole lot of 40+ year old musicians who can write a Sesame Street ditty gone wrong like The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song, while still offering a backhanded glove slap to Britney and Gwen Stefani in The Sound of Failure.

Although the album will probably get crushed under the giant balls of high expectations in the bearded hipster arena, it sits as a step sideways to Yoshimi. There's a lot of the whimisical noise-making from the sucky-era of the Lips, but unfortunately, a lot of the melody and embracing of pop that defined the Lips in the post-sucky era is lost.

James Blunt must be a god

2006-02-23T17:38:00.000-07:00

Please don't hate James Blunt.

Aside from having a name most likely created by a nun and Method Man, he's a former army captain and could probably turn your body into a bleeding pretzel.

But more importantly, he's given me countless hours of unbridled entertainment by singing these words in a quivering faux-falsetto: "Yoahr Beeu-Ti-fALL.... h....it's truh!" The 'f' is silent.

In fact, I've managed to ruin a bride-to-be's first dance at her wedding reception.

The man is a god I tell you. If sap were shit, the Blunt craps out maple syrup with little itty bits of corn from yesterday's dinner.

Click here to read The Aural Douchebag eating his words regarding James Blunt.